The Lipless Gods

by Brian Stillman

Sipe put the burner phone in his jacket pocket. For a second his knuckles pushed against the stun gun prongs. He looked at the Honda, the reflection blinding, the sunlight bouncing off the windshield. He looked past the car at Henry, then turned and looked at Tiffany, both kids, still texting.

  “You ought to go.”

  He said it again, stepping towards Tiffany. Given the influence of the sun, her baby chick hair glowed, an other-worldly yellow.

  “Hm?”

  “Go talk to Henry. Actual talk. Not that. That’s your thumbs talking.”

  Giggling, she looked at Sipe.

  “I still have to run. Damnit. I swear. I’m never ever going to get started doing that. I’m never not going to be the blob. The blob that ate the world.”

  “Then go. Go get your running over with.”

  “Yeah. Probably should.” She looked at him. She could ask maybe one or two more questions and then he’d have to shove her off the grass towards the asphalt. Before Zeke arrived she had to be gone. It’d probably been a good decade and a half since Zeke had cleaned up a mess. Right on out in broad daylight. Sipe knew only a few men that pulled a trigger in that setting and didn’t let it get to them, the possibility of things turning on them, variables. Zeke radiated enough irritation enough he’d shoot until he wasn’t irritated.

  “What’s going to happen to Hope?” asked Tiffany.

  “I don’t know. Didn’t you talk to her last night?”

  “Yeah. But. She just thinks summer isn’t going to end. Her parents are pissed at her, at each other. I think she thinks it’s an excuse. She can put things off forever if she wants. Like she’s god or something. Has all the time in the world, literally.”

  They both heard the roar, but Tiffany spotted the source first. Her brow lowering, trying to make sense of what was coming down the street, right towards them.

  The jeep didn’t slow down. Once it made the turn off of Main Street and started rolling south, the vehicle had only put on speed. A second and a half past the Dobbs place, Clay jerked the steering wheel to the right and the jeep launched, bounced, wiggled on impact, and he jerked the wheel sharp and to the right, missing the butt end of the northernmost railcar, then maintained mastery of the steering wheel and looped around the back end of all of the railcars.

  Sipe had grabbed Tiffany and pulled her towards him as he backed up, towards the Honda, then he stopped, let go of her and stepped in front of her, gave her a little push and told her to go, but her eyes bulged, her legs locked. Fear. It was like they were circled by something from out of textbooks, something pre-historic or future-historic, a sabertooth tiger or its steel, glittering, nanotech descendant.

  The Jeep peeled around the southernmost railcar and then turned north and accelerated towards the two. When Clay applied the brakes the Jeep’s rear end slid towards them. Almost like the Jeep was going to spin a full revolution. It stopped. Dust fluttered out from the tires tearing the blond, green, brown flesh. The jeep coughed to a halt, the passenger side angled towards Sipe and Tiffany.

  Clay climbed out from the front driver’s side door. He held his bow in one hand, the quiver looped across his chest, left shoulder to right hip. He held an arrow in his left hand. Some glass bottle left near the base of the railcar nearest the Jeep shattered under his weight, his boot. He notched the arrow. The bow black, fiberglass, the same composition of materials utilized for submarine hulls, satellites. Clay’s eyes moved left, his upper body moving with the look towards Tiff, Tiff drifting away from Sipe, towards the railcar on her immediate right.

  “What are you doing?” Sipe clapped his hands. Took a step at Clay. Clapped the hands again. “Hey.”

  Got him. Clay lost interest in Tiff.

  “What’s this about?”

  “What do you think it’s about?”

  In a smooth motion Clay notched the arrow and released it. The arrow shot through the air towards the Honda and shattered the front passenger side headlight.

  By the time Sipe looked back at Clay, another arrow was notched. Tiffany frozen to her spot, halfway between Sipe and the railcar.

  “Again. You got to tell me what’s wrong. I can’t read your mind.”

  Clay swiveled to the right. Aimed at Sipe then past Sipe. Let loose another arrow.

  Henry ducked. He stood dead center of the asphalt. He dropped the Lawn Buddy and kept his hands up. The second expended arrow’s endpoint unknown. No screams sounded. Clay didn’t want to hit the kid, just wanted to scare him, keep him distant, up on the road, away from getting down here with the rest of the party.

  Sipe wondered how many arrows Clay could waste. The notched third aimed now at his skull.

  “You trying to kill kids?”

  “I hunt deer in the fall. I fish anytime. With this. Squirrels, anytime. Some dumbass kid isn’t much sport. Trust me. I want to put an arrow in something it goes in.”

  “You want to talk?”

  “I want to watch you bleed.”

  “Ok. There a reason?”

  “Are you really this stupid?”

  “This about last night?”

  Clay laughed.

  “We can talk. You and me.”

  “No shit. We can talk. We can talk, she can listen. Little Miss Beepers’ pal can listen.”

  “I’ll talk right now if you want to talk. But it’s unprofessional to talk in front of too many people.”

  “Ok, fucko. How professional is it to stun gun a pregnant woman?” Clay spit.

  “She lived.”

  Clay laughed. He reapplied tension to the bow.

  “Two for the price of one. That’s how you figure it? Scramble the mother, scramble the baby. ‘She lived’. She’s had a dozen convulsions.”

  “Maybe you ought to be at her side.”

  “I will go back to her side. I will. After I kill your ass. That ugly bruise? Your face? Best bull’s eye I ever did see.”

  “You kill anyone, you’ll never see her again. You’ll never see the baby.”

  Clay stared at him. The bow had started to move up and down with the rest of him. He bounced inside the boots. The more agitated he got, he ceded that area of calm the bow resided in.

  “I could wound.” Clay turned. Aimed at Tiffany. “Take out one of her big titties. Deflate it. Lose its air. How about that? Is that professional? Anybody asks, I can say you drew on me and I lost my grip.”

  “You don’t want to hurt her.”

  “She’s an angel? She’s so pure? Really? She hangs out with shit. Little Miss Beepers. You. Maybe she deserves to lose a titty. Maybe both of ‘em. Flat and fat from here on out.”

  When Sipe pulled the hammer back on Faye’s revolver, Clay looked at him, out the corner of his eye socket, but he didn’t alter the arrow’s aim.

  “That was fast. I didn’t even see you get that out,” said Clay. “You think that’s smart though?”

  “You’re upset,” said Sipe.

  “I got people that know where I’m at, dumbfuck. You shoot me, you die.”

  “I shoot you, you don’t have to worry about anything that happens to me.”

  “All right. All right. Well,” said Clay, “I shoot first…You get to have her on your conscience the rest of your life.”

  Sipe took a step towards Clay.

  “Stop. Right. There. The fuck you think you’re doing?” asked Clay.

  “Maybe I know this close to you I can shoot an arrow out of the air.”

  Clay laughed. Snot shot out of a nostril. He left the little thumb of liquid gold congeal where it’d leaked.

  “Oh. Look. Lookie there. Here comes some of my people.”

  Sipe didn’t turn around. He couldn’t hear an engine. Tiff’s phone buzzed. Clay told her to answer it. Go ahead. She could look back at town if she wanted. Just don’t run. Like he said. Remember. He liked moving targets.


  “It’s Bret.” Tiffany looked over her left shoulder back towards town. “Ruchert.”

  “On the phone?” asked Sipe.

  “No. Walking.”

  “He’s the big one?”

  “Yeah.” She looked at her phone. “Phone is Henry. Wants to know if he should call the cops.”

  “No,” said Sipe. “Under no circumstances.”

  She texted. Looked back, shaking her head like Henry was dull headed enough the message needed that additional emphasis.

  “Oh. Sipe. Someone else is coming,” she said. “Car.”